I Know You Are But What Am I?
by Catherine5
Summary: ‘Do not think, for a second that you are the only one affected by this.’
1. Spiral

_- disclaimer:_ house and all characters involved are property of david shore and their respective actors. main title from mogwai song, mainly because i was listening to it while writing. no infringement intended.  
_- a/n:_ story takes place in the span of one night and the following day, just for clarification purposes. thoughts appreciated but not demanded. hope you enjoy.

**I Know You Are But What Am I?**  
Spiral

Like a spiral, she thinks, and pulls her coat tighter. The roof is empty and hollow, as if the platform exists alone and all those little lights are hundreds of miles away. She resists the urge to stretch out a hand and reach, and pull all those drifting places back within jumping distance.

He can't jump, she sighs, and shakes her head, imagining once again the spiral—so much easier to slide down than climb up, where you have to swing yourself over the side and pray your fingers don't slip.

She'd always been afraid of heights before, but after climbing up the side of that spiral, looking over the edge doesn't seem so bad anymore. She sighs, and watches her breath mingle with the air.

The pressure of the hospital is too much—the atmosphere has become too dense, too harsh and every wall screams and wails; it's everything she can do to keep from screaming back. So she escapes to the rooftop to watch the world spin out of control.

The door opens and she glances over her shoulder, relieved to see a fiercely clothed, cane-less being approach her. She smiles weakly and he smiles back, rubbing his gloved hands together.

'What are you doing up here? It's freezing.'

'I needed to breathe,' she says, and brushes the hair off her face.

'Yeah, it's… stifling in there.'

She smiles again, knowing he's completely lost. 'The tension,' she offers, and stuffs her hands in her pockets. 'It's so…' And she shakes her head again, words as distant as the buildings. 'It's so _wrong_.'

Chase looks at her, still confused but entirely sympathetic, and quirks an eyebrow. 'How do you mean?'

'It's just… You'd think he'd be the last person something like this would happen to, you know? Sure, he's no saint like the nurses perceive but he's still… a good guy.'

Chase nods, but doesn't state the obvious. Cameron is thankful, and steps slightly closer to show it.

'This isn't about Wilson, is it?' She looks up, slightly surprised. 'Why you're up here. It's about House.'

She starts to protest, but he shakes his head, bangs falling in front of his eyes. The action is soothing, as it reminds her of normality.

Inside the hospital, back down those flights of stairs and through a few doors, normality has ceased and everything has started spiraling.

'I get it.'

And she knows he means it, and she knows he gets it in the way it's supposed to be understood. Nonetheless, she explains, slowly and with many pauses.

'It's not like _that_… it's just… I mean, I don't still…' She stops and smiles; she isn't stupid. She knows how she sounds. 'I'm worried about him. As a employee or a co-worker, as a friend, or as anything else.'

Cameron sighs and looks out over the roof, and in her mind, spreads her arms to see if she'll fly.

'No one should have to…'

Chase doesn't know how to finish her sentence, but he catches the meaning and nods, swallowing the words he has for fear of harming the soft air around them. It's comfortable, but not too comfortable, and it's the first time she's really spoken to him about much of anything. He knows in the back of his head it's only because he's there, and had it been Foreman or Cuddy or anyone else who'd seen her go up the back steps, she'd be talking to them instead.

'Your mom—' she starts suddenly, then bites her lip and looks away.

'Yeah?' He prods, if only to show the question doesn't hurt him.

'She died of alcoholism, didn't she?'

He nods, and ignores the tight surge the word brings to his gut.

'Are you okay?' she asks quietly. He blinks, slightly startled and frowns. 'There was a lot of alcohol involved. I didn't know if you… Sorry.'

'No, it's fine. I'm fine, I…' He smiles lightly, and tosses the hair out of his eyes. 'Doing a round in the ER pretty much expelled any issues with the subject. They still pop up every once in a while, but for the most part… People are going to be stupid. And people are going to drink. And stupid people are going to do stupid things while they're drunk.'

'Like get into cars,' she murmurs and shakes her head again. 'I still can't believe…'

'It is pretty weird, isn't it?'

'He's not going to make it.' Her voice drops so low Chase had to stoop to catch it.

'What?'

'House. If Wilson… House isn't that strong by himself.'

'He's a grown man, Cameron. I'm sure—'

'They love each other.'

Chase blinks away the mental images. 'What? You think that they—'

'Not _in_ love, although I wouldn't really be surprised. They're best friends. They've known each other for God knows how long and… you can't just sever something like that. Especially with death. There's all the… residual effects that try to tear you apart.' Cameron sighs and brings her slowly dwindling voice back up to normal volume. 'It'd be like… it'd be like hacking off a limb.'

Chase nods, and looks away, off to the other side of the roof, and the door that leads to warm, sterilized air.

'C'mon,' he says after a long moment. 'Let's go in. Bad coffee awaits us.' His voice is tempting and smooth, almost posed as a question.

'You go ahead,' she smiles, and he closes his lips, trapping the protest inside. 'I'm going to stay out here a little longer.'

She listens to his footsteps and the opening and closing of the door, and when all is silent releases the air she's been holding, offering it back to the night much the same as how she took it.

There's no room to breathe on spirals, she thinks bitterly. Only room to fall.

After a last long look, she turns her back on the fading lights, and goes inside to face the screaming walls.

xxx

He hears the door open with a quiet hiss but doesn't look up. Even as she speaks, he keeps his gaze level with an insignificant spot on the wall. He ignores the fact that her voice isn't as strong as usual, and that she isn't really looking at him either.

'His blood pressure's still too low but we're monitoring it closely. He crashed once during surgery, but—'

'No pun intended, right?'

He looks up, keeping his face in a painfully smug, nonchalant expression that suggests amusement. Her shoulders stiffen, almost imperceptibly.

'I don't think it's funny.' She drops the file on his desk and turns to leave. 'Anyway, you can see him now.'

'Thanks for lettin' me know.'

She pauses halfway to the door. 'You aren't moving.'

' 'Your powers of deduction'—'

Cuddy sighs and let her hands drop against her sides with a dull slap. 'What are you doing, House?'

'I'm sitting,' he states. 'And you're being annoying. Now that we've got that clarified—'

'You should go stay with him.' Her voice is soft, softer than he wants it to be; his eyes narrow.

'Why? He's asleep,' he shrugs. 'Won't know I'm not there.'

'He will when he wakes up.' She waits, but he just raises his eyebrows and swallows all the things he really wants to say. 'House…' she exhales heavily. 'Go sit by your friend.'

'Is that an order, boss?'

'I can make it one.'

'Be still my twitching loins,' he mocks, and leans back in his chair casually. 'What crawled up your ass and—'

'You're scared. I get it. Hiding in your office isn't going to change anything.'

'I'm not hiding; I'm working.'

'On what?'

'Doctorly stuff.' He smiles at her condescendingly. 'You wouldn't understand.'

She glares but refuses to rise to the bait, just lowers her gaze briefly before looking him in the eye.

'You have two choices—you can either sit here, feeling useless and sorry for yourself, or you can go downstairs and feel sorry for him for a change.'

He blinks. 'Wow. Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. You've given me so much to think about—I may have to reevaluate my morals as a human being.'

'You should do that,' she says on her way out. 'Might be a reality check for you.'

House watches her move off down the hall, his interest only slightly peaked when Cameron and Chase step into the hallway behind her.

'Dr. Cuddy?' Cameron calls.

She turns, but makes no attempts at a smile. 'Yes?'

'I… how is he?'

Cuddy sighs and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. 'Stable, for the time being. But—'

Cameron swallows and shoots a fleeting glance at the glass office. 'I, um… I meant Dr. House.'

Cuddy pauses and considers her momentarily, then shakes her head slowly. 'He's… angry. And terrified.'

'Did he say something?' Chase prompts, also following Cameron's wayward glance.

'He doesn't have to,' she replies, staring over their shoulders at Forman, who approached the group briskly.

'Hey.' He smiles, and Cuddy finds it somewhat reassuring.

'Hey, Foreman,' Cameron offers, but her return smile dies without much of a chance.

'Why the convention?' He turns in the direction of two of three gazes and nods, noting silently that Cuddy's glance is fixated solely on the conversation at hand and not once does it waver to the man behind the glass. 'Ah. Got it. How's he holding up?'

'He's not,' Cameron answers, caught off-guard when she hears Cuddy's voice speak over her.

'For now, he'll be fine. He'll hide in his office until Wilson wakes up, or…'

There is an uncomfortable pause, and Cuddy looks as if she doesn't know where to rest her eyes. The three younger doctors shoot looks amongst themselves, silently deciding that Chase should be the one to break air.

'Dr. Cuddy?'

She shakes her head. 'Nothing. I have to get back downstairs. Keep an eye on him. If he heads for the roof…' She trails off, and lets her statement hang between the three of them as she disappears down the hall.

Forman looks between the other two with a raised eyebrow, and despite his best efforts, slight apprehension seeps into his voice. 'Did she mean that literally?'

xxx

They tell her not to do it, but she goes in anyway, poking her head through the door between his office and the conference room.

'Dr. House?'

She steps in with false bravado and again tries to smile.

'Oh, it's my lovely entourage. Come to bring me a present?'

She ignores the mocking tone and lifts the mug slightly. 'I brought you some coffee.'

'Aren't you a doll.'

She sets the cup on the desk and lingers, feeling as out of place as she did the first day. 'Do you need anything else?'

'Can you lap dance? Or maybe just some alcohol. _Lots _of alcohol, and—'

'I'm sorry.'

The muscles in his face tense. 'For what.' He doesn't phrase it as a question, and she tries not to feel like it's an accusation.

'Nothing. I'm just… sorry. That this happened to him. To you.'

House tilts his head. 'Were you driving?'

'No—'

'Then don't be sorry.'

The silence that suspends between them swirls like dead air, and she focuses on keeping her fingers still. Nodding to the half-empty bottle on the desk, without bothering to hide her distain she asks,

'You don't think that's kind of sadistic?'

He follows her gaze and pours himself another glass. 'Sadistic? No. Maybe ironic. Maybe—'

'How much have you had?'

'Are you my mother?'

'I know you're upset, but it's not an excuse to get stupid—'

'Isn't that what you do?' He raises his eyebrows; she holds her breath, and tightens her slippery hold on the edge of the spiral. 'Just because your boyfriend's dying, doesn't seem like a plausible reason to haul off and marry the guy—'

'You're an ass,' she hisses, because she can't manage anything louder.

'Thank you,' he nods. 'I work hard to maintain this attitude.'

Cameron clenches her jaw and turns – 'Bet you do.' – yanks open the door and wishes it could slam behind her.


	2. Mask

_- disclaimer: _see part i  
_- a/n: greenghost:_ ooh, i'm so glad you picked up on that. house is definitely the hardest character to write for; i'm glad he's coming out all right. _Teenwitch:_ cameron is definitely not my favourite character, but i truly don't believe she's the sniveling character some portray her to be, and i'm very relieved she's not coming out as such in this. _chinadoll02411:_ it's a thin line between giving away too much and too little; i'm sorry it didn't connect with you. any specific reasons why? _lijep:_ this is my first real attempt at writing for house, so I'm basically crossing my fingers and hoping it comes out alright. I'd hate to kill such a wonderful character. (Thanks to everyone for the reviews! It means a lot, as I'm sure you know. )

**I Know You Are But What Am I?**  
Mask

It isn't long before his third visitor bursts through the door, hands on hips and eyes tight in the creases.

'What the hell did you say to Cameron?'

'Ooh,' he shudders dramatically. 'the big scary gang member's going to give me a talkin' too. I have a cane, you know.' He waves the stick with a slightly trembling arm.

Foreman gestures angrily toward the hall. 'She's been in the bathroom for the last fifteen minutes trying to stop the tears! I finally had to call Cuddy!'

House's look softens, but it isn't genuine. 'Aw, I'm sure she'll be just fine. Cuddy's _very_ good at comforting distraught employees—gives great back rubs.' His eyes glint. 'Maybe there'll be some gentle touches, a hug or two, one thing leads to another—you think they'll be any tongue-on-tongue action?'

Foreman takes a step back, repulsed. 'You're disgusting.'

'I prefer to think of myself as—Dr. Cuddy!' He smiles as she enters the room, her face long and blank but her eyes dangerously cold. 'How nice of you to join us. Forman was just wondering how things were going with Cameron—'

'Dr. Forman would you excuse us for a few moments.' Her voice is low and smooth, and Foreman has no doubt in his mind just how angry she is.

'Yeah,' he murmurs, and quickly vacates the room.

'Thanks.'

House smiles arrogantly, tempted to let her breech the silence. But her pause is too long, too detached and so unlike her, that the words tumble from his mouth without his consent.

'So. Have I been a bad, bad boy? Do I need a spanking—?'

'I want you to go home.'

'Aw, but I love it here. It's so homey.'

Her tone doesn't change, staying level and smooth, and he finds himself more unnerved by that than by her usual screaming. 'You aren't doing anything useful and you're antagonizing my staff.'

He scoffs. 'You mean Cameron?'

'People are getting hurt.'

'Person. And she had it coming.'

'Why?' She folds her arms across her chest and stares him down. 'Because she brought you coffee? Because she said she was sorry?' He says nothing, and she gives a little laugh—harsh and bitter and incredulous. 'You're pathetic. Your best friend – the only friend you've got – was just in a car accident, he's in critical condition, he's almost died twice and you can't even make it down a flight of stairs to—'

'Stairs are out.'

'This isn't about you.' The intensity of the air skyrockets. 'This is about Wilson. He needs you and you can't even be there for him—'

'You don't know anything about what he needs.'

Her eyes narrow. 'I know he needs a better friend than you.'

'What don't you ask Cameron? I'm sure she'd offer herself to the job.'

Her spine stiffens and her fingers try to curl together. He smiles again, because she interprets the insult exactly as he means.

'You take some kind of perverse pleasure in hurting other people?' she asks, instead of what she really wants to say.

'It's like a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach—'

'Do not think, for a _second_ that you are the only one affected by this,' she snaps, and lets that be the last word as she turns and strides from the office.

Not quite balanced, House rises and follows, calling down the hall louder than necessary,

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You know exactly what it means.'

He catches up to her at the elevator just in time to see her jab the button with a force he knows has to hurt her finger.

He knows what she wants to say, what she feels, and he knows she's terrified he'll shoot her down; he's terrified she will, and he'll confirm her fears. Shuffling precariously along the line, she lifts her chin and glares.

'Wilson's a popular guy—there are people other than yourself who are worried about him—'

'Like who, his _wife_? Have you seen her at all? Or have you even managed to get a hold of her?' The elevator doors open and House blocks the entrance with his arm. 'Wilson's got about as many friends as you do.'

'And whose fault is that? People are terrified to talk to him because they might run into you!'

He shrugs. 'No pain, no gain. Their loss anyways.'

'No, his loss! He's given you everything he has and you can't even give him a few hours of your time in return.'

'You don't know anything about our relationship, Dr. Cuddy, so don't presume just because you're head of this hospital that you're all knowing in every matter of all of 'your doctor's' lives, because you aren't; I know James a hell of a lot better than you do and I'll decide what he needs. He's my friend, not yours!'

A sharp beeping interrupts his speech and Cuddy looks at the message on her pager. Her face pales, and without a word she pushes past him to the stairs, almost at a run.

The night nurse sees her coming and rushes to meet her. 'What's going on?'

'He's hypotensive,' she says, as another one calls, 'He's seizing!'

She doesn't remember putting on gloves, or entering the room, but she knows by the slight panic in the voice that yells directions that it's her own and it's everything she can do to keep from screaming.

A glance up finds House in the doorway, gripping his cane till the skin splits, his eyes wide.

'House,' she warns, still holding the shaking figure on his side.

'James…' he murmurs, and Cuddy swallows her sympathy.

'Someone get him out of here!'

She isn't sure if her order is ever carried out or not, but she knows he doesn't get in their way and she's thankful.

Once stabilized, the nurses filter out of the room, oblivious to the way she lingers until shouting from the hallway catches her attention.

'…handle your patient!'

The other doctor protests, 'His condition was monitored closely; there's no way we could have predicted—'

'He was in a car accident, you idiot, you didn't think he lost any blood!'

'Hey!' All eyes shift at the sound of her voice. 'What the hell is going on here?'

The doctor gestures angrily. 'Dr. Cuddy, will you please tell Dr. House—'

'Your doctors are incompetent!'

'Excuse me—' he cuts in, and House turns back.

'You could have killed him!'

'He was stable! I don't know if you understand the meaning of that word, House, as your patients are constantly—'

'Okay, enough!' she yells, stepping between them.

'Constantly what, _doc_?'

'I said enough!'

'Stay out of it, Cuddy!'

She turns, her back completely to the other doctor. 'What are you going to do? Beat him over the head with your cane?' She's shorter, and her neck cranes slightly to make eye contact, but she's no less intimidating and no less powerful. 'Knock it off.'

'This shouldn't have happened!'

'Of course it shouldn't have happened, but—'

'And if you assigned your doctors to cases a little bit better it wouldn't have!'

'This is not about you!' she yells, and gestures toward the room where Wilson lies, unconscious. 'This is about him!'

'Cuddy—'

'It's about _him_! So knock it off!'

House waves his arm at the doctor. 'He wasn't even in the room!'

'No, that's your job!'

The silence that falls is deafening, and even those who don't know, or don't care to know the story hold in their sighs, afraid that any heavy breathing will disturb the delicate air, and that everything will break. The nurses try to divert their eyes, but pairs sneak looks from one to the other and back to them.

House looks down and notices her fingers dancing against her leg. 'Why are you shaking?'

'I'm not,' she says stubbornly, and flattens her hand. 'Go wait in my office.'

'Cuddy—'

'Go.'

He hesitates, testing her patience a moment more before limping heavily away. No one speaks until the doctor steps forward.

'Dr. Cuddy—'

'Give me that,' she snaps, grabbing the chart that hangs loosely in his hand. 'Patient suffered massive internal bleeding and contusion, and you didn't think it would be a good idea to watch his BP level?'

He rolls his eyes. 'Look, Dr. Cuddy, just because House came in here and—'

'House was right,' she scoffs, shaking her head. 'Did you even graduate from medical school? I expect to see you in my office first thing in the morning.'

She pushes past him, and the eyes follow her to the elevator, and look away only when the bell dings and she disappears.

xxx

House is standing in the middle of her office when she arrives, both hands on his cane. He opens his mouth, but she's faster.

'I want you to apologize to Cameron. And Foreman.'

'Why?'

She circles behind her desk. 'Because it's an order.'

'Do I have to grovel in front of the other guy too?'

'Then I want you to go home. I'll have someone call you if his condition changes.'

'Aren't you afraid I'll stop to knock back a few?'

She sits and pulls a stack of papers in front of her. 'I don't really care. So long as you don't do it here.'

'Brrr,' he shudders, but she cuts him off before he can say much else.

'Go home, House.'

'Don't really feel like it.'

She looks up and glowers. 'Get out of my hospital.'

'Possessive, much?'

'I'll call security,' she threatens. 'Get. Out.'

'Cuddy—'

'Get out,' she says sharply, then, quieter but no less resigned, 'Just get out.'

xxx

She's standing over the bed when Stacy walks in, binder in hand as usual and a soft, sympathetic smile on her face.

'Hey.'

'Hey.'

'How're you holding up?'

She laughs softly. 'Barely.'

'Expected,' Stacy concedes, and tilts her head. 'Greg?' Cuddy looks away and Stacy frowns; her voice is slightly edgy and Cuddy sighs. 'Lisa?'

'I kicked him out.'

'What? Why?'

'He was antagonizing several doctors, and upsetting the patients. I told him to go home.'

Stacy pauses for a moment, watching her expressions carefully. 'You know he didn't go home.'

'Yeah,' she whispers, and pretends to check the monitors.

'And now you're feeling guilty.'

'Yeah.'

'Don't. He deserves whatever's coming to him.'

Cuddy looks back at her in surprise. 'No, he doesn't.' She looks back at Wilson, and subconsciously knots her fingers together at her side.

'Lisa?'

'He's terrified. He doesn't know how to handle it, so he…'

Stacy groans inwardly. 'What did he say?'

'Nothing.'

'Lisa. What did he say?'

Her lack of an answer is answer enough.

'Well of course. Of course he's going to deflect the attention to himself, that's what he does. As much as he hates it, he can't stand it when nobody's hanging on to his every word. He needs that. He doesn't have it right now.'

'Yeah,' she says, although not convinced she's right.

Stacy places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 'I'll see if I can find him.'

'He could be anywhere.'

'No,' she smiles. 'not really. I'll be back soon. Keep me posted?'

'Yeah.'


	3. Selfish

_- disclaimer: _see part i  
_- a/n: paigefan: _re: cuddy kicking house out- yes, it was partially a plot point, but more so that she's kind of at her wits end, and house is the last thing she can deal with at the moment. i'm so glad characters are staying in character. it's the biggest downer to hear that you're messing everybody up. _lijep: _yes, chapter three arriveth (finally). and teh cuddy! she's my favourite out of the whole cast, i've decided; i hope i'm doing her character at least partial justice. :) _ morgan: _i love how you pick up on all the little subtleties… it makes my life. more fic from you too- and soon poke _little lunar wolf: _i love the housewilsoncuddy dynamic more than anything, and 'throwing them in a beaker and applying heat' is just the best way to go. i'm glad you're enjoying it.

**I Know You Are But What Am I?**  
Selfish

'Hey, you okay?'

'Why did you call Cuddy?' Her anger is barely restrained.

Foreman looks confused. 'What?'

'Why did you tell House, for that matter?'

He's a little shocked, and clears his throat to cover it. 'He should know what he put you through.'

'You're the one who's been insisting that he doesn't really care about anything; why did you think he would care about this?'

'I don't know, I thought—why are you angry with me? It's him you should be angry with—'

'I am. Trust me. But you had no right to go wailing to him, or to Cuddy. I can take care of myself.'

He nods his head and shoots her an apologetic look. 'I'm sorry. I didn't know keeping your feelings secret meant that much to you.' There's a twinge of sarcasm to his voice, but it's not unprecedented. She sighs and sits opposite him, the frustration slowly draining from her body, replaced swiftly by exhaustion.

'He's angry, and hurt, and he's going to lash out. It's not a good idea to give him material to use.'

'He's a bastard. He made you cry—'

'No, what he said made me cry.'

Foreman scoffs, and doesn't bother to try to understand. 'How can you let him off the hook like that?'

'I'm not.' She pauses, then explains slowly, 'What he said was unforgivable, but not inexcusable. He's in pain.' She smiles slightly, reassuringly. 'We all know what that's like.'

xxx

'I didn't finish counting,' he slurs, and takes another drink.

'Tough luck.' She slides onto the barstool next to him, watching him for a moment. She waves away the bartender who asks her what she'd like. 'What are you doing, Greg? You really think getting wasted is going to help?'

He shrugs sloppily. 'Seems to be working so far.'

'Damn it, Greg.'

'You really like my name, don't you?'

Stacy glares. 'I'm substituting it for something else.'

'Ooh, I love it when you talk nasty,' he murmurs around the lip of his glass.

'Let's go.'

'I'm comfy,' he protests, but she drags him off the stool and thrusts his cane in his face. 'Ow.'

'There, now you're up. Let's go.'

'Bartender, I'm being sexually harassed by a skinny white woman—'

'I can still take you.'

'Oh, really?'

'One blow to the thigh and you're out.'

'Whose fault is that?' he sneers.

'Mine,' she says fiercely. 'Not Lisa's.'

He lolls his head. 'Oh, God, does she have to show up in every conversation we have—'

'Until you stop, yeah, she will.' Stacy pushes him through the crowd toward the exit. 'Lisa's a good friend of mine, and I won't let you keep hurting her.'

'I'm not hurting her. The woman's made of stone and ice and barbed, electrical wire. You could drop an atom bomb on her psyche and she'd be fine—'

Outside, she grabs his arm and turns him to face her sharply, causing him to stumble and lean heavily on the cane. 'That's not true and you know it. Where the hell have you been, Greg?'

'Whoops, there's that word again.'

'I'm serious! For the last few months… do you have any idea what's going on in her life?'

'Don't care,' he shrugs, and sways again.

'In James'? You have no idea, do you? Do you know that he's getting divorced—'

'Yes.'

'—and that Julie's taking him for everything he's got—'

'Yes.'

Stacy straightens and clamps her lips tightly together. House smirks.

'Do you know why he was drunk?'

His expression falls. 'What?'

'Do you know why he w—'

'I heard you,' he sighs, and rolls his neck back, closing his eyes.

'Julie's resolved not to stay quiet about the affair. What that means for them—'

House sighs, and looks away. 'Yeah.'

xxx

'This seat taken?'

'No,' she says coldly and shifts, putting distance between them. He ambles forward and drops into the chair next to her.

'Wow. That was polite. Don't you really mean—'

'It's clearly empty, House.'

He gives half a nod and looks away, up at the television in the corner of the room. He taps the cane on the floor, the sound breaking the stillness of the waiting room.

Minutes pass before the silence itches at his ears and he squirms.

'So. Who's winning?'

'Don't know.' She doesn't look at him, settling for eyeing the elevator doors, watching the numbers light up and die above them.

'Eh, doesn't matter. _General Hospital_ starts in eight. Much better television.'

She stands suddenly. 'I'll leave you to it then.'

'Cameron—' he calls, and though she doesn't want to, she stops and turns; he looks at her shoes. 'You're right. I get… stupid.' Raising his head, he catches her eyes and holds them, trying to convey sincerity in more ways than one. 'I'm sorry.'

'Really?' More accusation than suspicion.

'Yes.'

She debates, and decides that forgiveness is a step too far. 'Thank you.'

House nods, and watches over her shoulder as Foreman approaches, and almost smiles at his protective demeanor.

'Hey.' He touches her arm lightly. 'Chase's looking for you. He's in the clinic.' She nods and looks back at House once more before leaving.

House calls his name and Foreman stops, turning back to eye him, still angry but subdued.

'I get it, House, I really do. But…' He trails off, and House looks past him into the clinic where Chase and Cameron converse quietly at the desk. After a pause Foreman shrugs and joins them; House taps his cane against the ground again and leans back in the chair, staring blankly at the opening credits of _General Hospital._

xxx

'You didn't tell me he was drunk.'

She's been standing there forever, wanting more than anything to hold his hand and terrified beyond belief that someone will notice. House recognizes the inner struggle easily, and after several minutes of watching her unnoticed, ambles into the room; her oblivion tells him everything.

'It was in the file.' She takes a step back and tries to look away; House shifts and focuses on anything but the bed, anything but his friend who has never been so still.

'I never looked at it.'

'Yeah.'

There's a pause, then she turns abruptly and slips past him out the door. He follows.

'Cuddy.'

'Not right now.' She increases her pace, but House matches her gait, staying just behind her.

'Cuddy, wait.'

'No, seriously, House. I can't—' she cuts herself off. 'I don't want to listen to this.'

'You have no idea what I'm going to say.'

Stopping at the desk, she picks up a few papers, needing something to hold in her hands. 'I don't really care.'

'If you don't care then you can stop for a few—'

She taps the papers on the desk before moving away again. 'It's a waste of my time.'

'What the hell else are you going to be doing?' he calls, and despite her better judgment, and everything inside her that tells her to run, she stops and turns.

'What do you want, House?' She shakes her head. 'I can't be your verbal punching bag every time things to wrong.'

'You think that's what I'm after? A sparing partner?'

'Isn't it?'

'No. Why didn't you tell me about the alcohol?'

She scoffs and walks quickly away. 'I was right.'

Undeterred, he presses after her. 'You knew I wouldn't open that folder so the only way would have been for you to tell me and you didn't.'

'You figured it out.'

She doesn't know where she's going, only that it's away from him.

'Why didn't you tell me, Cuddy?'

'I didn't want to. I'm not having his conversation—'

'Yeah, we are.'

'No, we aren't. You're going back to your friend and I'm going into my office—'

'To what, hide?'

'No!'

He's close enough to grab her arm, and pulling her back nearly throws him off balance. She yanks away, but his voice won't let her leave.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Stop it,' she orders, but the pleading in her voice is barley disguised. 'Just stop it.'

'Why?' He's suddenly angry. Not at her, at circumstance—but enough at her to justify his tone, his words. 'You think he stopped? One drink turned into two, turned into eight, turned into—'

She closes her eyes. 'I know.'

'Wilson only drinks at parties—'festive drinking' he calls it. He hates alcohol.'

'I know.'

'The only way he would ever, _ever_, put himself in a situation like that is if he were really, _really_ hurting. Pray tell, Cuddy, do _you _have any idea why—'

'I know!'

'No, you don't know!'

'Damn it, House, you think this is easy for me!' He stops and she trembles; her voice is quiet and shaky when she speaks, and her eyes shine but there's no overflow. 'I can't touch him,' she whispers fiercely. 'I can't hold his hand like I'm supposed to; I can't sit with him. That's his wife's job. But his wife's not coming, and everyone knows it.'

She shakes her head and looks at the floor. She can feel his eyes on the top of her head, trying to read whatever she's got written on her brain.

(It's not her brain that needs reading, though, it's her heart.)

She turns slowly and walks away, and House knows he should let her go.

'This is your fault.'

She freezes, and for a rational second, he knows he's gone too far. But there are too many conflicting emotions at work, and logic is at the bottom of a heavy pile. She turns slowly, and for all the expressions he considered she might have, he's not prepared for the empty, hollow stare that meets his gaze.

'Say it again,' she dares, and he swallows stiffly, keeping silent. There's a long pause, broken only by the shuffle of his feet as he shifts his weight, before she says quietly, 'Leave me alone, House,' and disappears around the corner before he can say anything else.

'What happened to the two of you?' Stacy's voice breaks the silence, and she moves closer to him, confusion written plainly on her face. 'You were so close before, how could…'

House nods in the direction Cuddy left. 'Ask her,' he mutters, and moves away as fast as possible. Stacy stays right on his heels.

'I'm not asking her, I'm asking you.'

He looks over his shoulder at her. 'I'm pretty sure that's a breach of doctor/patient confidentiality.'

'You're an ass,' she hisses.

'How am I an ass?'

'Where do you want me to start?' she scoffs. 'You're baiting her!'

'I am not baiting her, she's baiting herself because she feels guilty.'

'Of course she feels guilty! That doesn't necessarily mean it's her fault—'

House rolls his eyes. 'Of course it means it's her fault; you can't feel guilty about something that isn't—'

'Yes, you can. Greg.' She grabs his arm.

'Is this going to become a habit with you?'

'I realize that you're afraid and you're angry but you know what? So is she.'

'Because she cares,' he mimics, and pulls away.

'Because she loves him.' He stops and looks back over his shoulder.

'And when love is threatened… people say and do… stupid things.'

He pauses, the dead air stifling, then asks quietly, 'Like leave?'

'Yeah,' she murmurs. 'Like leave. Greg—' She closes the gap between them and places a hand on his face. 'This is _not_ about you. Get that through your head.'


	4. Guilty

_- disclaimer:_ see part one  
_- a/n:_ see end for comments

**I Know You Are But What Am I?**  
Guilty

'You just had to bring him back here, didn't you?' she huffs, not so much angry but shaken.

'I couldn't just leave him there. Lisa.'

She sighs and collapses into her chair. 'I know.'

Stacy sits across from her and reaches a hand across the desk. 'It's going to be okay,' she murmurs, and Cuddy laughs bitterly.

'Yeah, I'm sure it'll turn out just swell.'

'This wasn't your fault, Lisa. No matter what Greg said—'

'He didn't have to say it,' she whispers. 'He's right, he's—'

'Lisa, there's no way you could have known what was going to happen—'

'Of course I did, Stacy. He's married, for Christ's sake, what other outcome could there have been?'

'You didn't know he was going to hole himself up in a bar for three hours and then try to drive home.'

'He wasn't driving home, Stacy, he—' She stops and bites her lips.

'Lisa?'

'He was coming to see me.'

Stacy sighs and leans forward on her elbows, making eye contact. 'That still does not make this your fault.'

Cuddy shakes her head. 'If we hadn't been—'

'He still would have gotten divorced, Lisa. It's _James_, come on.' She attempts a smile. 'It was only a matter of time, whether you were there or not. At least now he has someone to take care of him.'

'Yeah, I've been doing a great job of that.'

'Lisa…' Stacy sighs, nearly exasperated. 'Stop, okay? Do you think James would want you beating yourself up like this?'

'He's not really in any position to stop me though, is he?' she snaps, but when the words reach her ears presses her knuckles to her lips and seals her eyes shut.

'Are you finished?' Stacy asks gently with a soft smile.

Cuddy nods and draws a shaky breath through her teeth. 'Yeah.'

xxx

'How long have they been together?' she asks quietly, coming up behind him.

House looks over at her, momentarily tearing his eyes away from the room, away from the bed and her sullen figure that hovers over it.

'Thinking of joining the party?'

Cameron looks at him blankly and leans on the reception desk. 'Just curious.' She pauses, then adds, 'I heard Wilson's getting a divorce.'

'News travels quick.'

'Too quick,' she concedes. Her lips turn up slightly. 'They look good together.'

House masks his surprise easily. 'I thought you'd be the last person to agree with breaking the sacred pact of marriage.' He says the words with a little too much disgust.

She shrugs and tilts her head slightly. 'I think circumstance factors into it. I also think the first one isn't necessarily the only one, or the right one for that matter.'

'That go for your first husband as well?' he asks with a raised eyebrow.

'I loved my husband,' she says, then glares at him pointedly, 'and I won't have him cheapened. Not even by you, Dr. House.'

xxx

People say it's because he's one of her doctors, because they're colleagues, or maybe even friends. They say it's because she's dedicated to her job and her employees, and that's why she checks in on him as often as she does.

Then they shake their heads and laugh softly, and wonder why they bother lying to themselves.

House watches her for as long as he can take it, then slips silently into the room and leans against the doorframe.

'The symposium.' She doesn't look up, doesn't smile, doesn't say a word. 'Last year. The faculty symposium. That's when it started.'

She swallows and tries to move her tongue. 'Yeah.'

'That's a long time.'

'Yeah.'

He steps in farther, standing at the foot of the bed and staring and Wilson's chest. 'He and Julie were already on the outs. It hit a playing field about Christmas… guess it's gone a bit downhill since then, huh?'

'Yeah.'

'Feeling monosyllabic?'

'What do you want, House?' she whispers, and he knows she fears the answer.

He tilts his head slightly. 'You ask me that a lot.'

'You never give me a straight answer.'

He shrugs and sits down in a chair in the corner. 'I want a lot of things. Not a lot of them are things you can give me.'

'No, I guess not.' She still doesn't look at him, and he watches her fingers rub against each other to keep from brushing the hair out of his eyes. He's about to tell her to do it when she speaks again. 'Is there anything?'

He thinks for a moment, then nods slowly. 'You make him happy. Happier, anyway.'

She almost laughs, but it isn't humourous, just tired, and broken. 'I don't know about that.' She pulls herself from the bed and starts for the door.

'Cuddy.'

She looks back, finally focusing her gaze on him. He looks worn and disheveled and completely drained.

'He called me.'

She covers her surprise well, he thinks. 'What?'

He swallows the bitter taste in his throat, and stares at the edge of the bed. 'From the bar. He called me and asked me to come down for a drink. I said no.' He fingers the head of his cane.

'Then you knew he was drunk.' He's amazed she's able to keep the accusation out of her voice.

'Yeah.'

'So why did you…'

'Verbal punching bag.' He tries to smirk but can't. 'That, and you seem to have a fondness for the whole 'guilt trip' thing.'

'Fondness?'

He concedes with a tip of his head. 'Obsession with.'

She raises and eyebrow and folds her arms. 'Maybe if I didn't have a constant reminder…'

'Cuddy.'

'I'm not talking about your leg,' she says sharply and he nods.

'There's nothing you can do about that. My sunny disposition is what it is.'

'I know,' she murmurs, and her eyes fall on Wilson's face, colourless and still.

'Well, actually,' he starts, 'you know that white sweater you have with the plunging neckline?'

They share a look, and a silent laugh that would feel wrong if voiced. They both know he'll never say I'm Sorry, and he's grateful for her ability to burn bridges and bury the past. He's never been good at either, but now, for her sake, he wishes he were.

Her movements are slow and fluid, as she crosses back to stand just a few feet from the part of the bed where Wilson's hand rests. He watches her carefully, because it's easier than watching him, and notes that he's never seen her quite so small, quite so helpless, and he supposes that he's probably a mirror image at the moment.

'I never figured you as the 'other woman' type,' he murmurs finally, the question buried just under the surface.

'When you grow up in a house where every dinner is like an episode of _Jerry Springer_, you tend to lose your respect for the bonds of holy matrimony pretty young,' she answers and he blinks, almost startled by the notion that Cuddy had anything less than a happy childhood.

And then he waits, because he's known her long enough to know when she'll really speak, when it's her voice and her soul that spills through her lips, rather than her solid façade.

'What's going to happen if…' But she can't complete the thought and he pretends he didn't hear it.

She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, a habit she's had since college.

'I should go,' she murmurs, but he grabs her wrist lightly, with just enough force to make her stay. She stares down at him, wondering whether her instincts for self-preservation are stronger than her empathy.

Apparently not, she decides, when her shoulders relax and she stays in place, even though his hand has dropped away. His eyes hold her there, immobile, as they always have.

'You are infuriating,' she murmurs, an almost-smile threatening her cheeks.

'I do my best.'

The monitors beep, breaking the heavy silence and making the light pulse behind his eyes in sync with the crest of the thin green line. He loves that line and hates it, for everything it took away from him, and everything it's giving him now.

'House.' The word is soft, and crackly and barely audible and before he can try for another syllable there's a light in his eyes, questions lowly bombarding his ears. He answers as best he can but his head is pounding and everything's hazy and hot and his whole body aches.

And then there's something cool and soft and comforting on his face and he tries to turn toward it but his neck ripples in pain.

'Shh,' is what he thinks she says and rubs her knuckles over his face. He wants to say I'm Sorry, but his mouth is dry and his throat sore and within moments he's warm and quiet and numb.

When he wakes up again, the same thing happens but this time it's House hovering over him, smirk firmly in place. When he's satisfied with his responses he drops into a chair at the end of the bed and glares.

'You're an idiot,' he says, and Wilson lowers his eyes. There's a pause, and House stares out the door to the dull bustle of the hospital. 'The minute you can walk, she's gonna kick your ass,' he warns, returning his attention to the bed. 'And by 'kick your ass', I mean withhold sex for as long as humanly possible.'

Wilson makes an attempt at a nod, but fails miserably. House is silent a long moment, tapping his cane on the floor in sync with the beeping monitors.

'James?' He says, and Wilson knows he's supposed to respond.

'Yeah?'

The lights are off and with the door closed the room is silent, and House is nothing more than a tired silhouette in the corner.

'You aren't me.'

His voice is shallow and barely audible. 'I know.'

Moment over, House leans back in the chair and offers a crooked smile. 'You can't hold your liquor to save your life.'

Wilson mimics his expression and closes his eyes, drifting quickly back into unconsciousness.

'Yeah, tell me about it.'

xxx

It's incredible, she thinks, how the world looks infinitely better when it isn't draped in black. The sun hangs mid-sky and wobbles, throwing graceful shadows on the ground that neither look haunting or intimidating in the day.

She inhales deeply, eyes closed, thankful for the fresh air and warmth on her face that's slowly melting away the last twelve hours.

The door behind her opens and closes, and footsteps echo across the roof towards her.

'Hey,' he says, and draws the collar of his coat up around his neck.

'Hey,' she smiles back, and he returns the gesture.

'You okay?' he ventures and she gives him a look out of the corner of her eye.

'I'm fine,' she insists, but she's more amused and warmed by his concern than annoyed.

'I figured as much. Just thought I'd check.'

'Uh-huh,' she replies, unconvinced.

There's a silence—calm, congenial, before he asks casually, 'You think things'll go back to the way they were?' He leans over the edge and peers down at the small bodies below.

'I think it'll be fine, eventually.'

'Yeah.' He pauses, then chuckles softly, almost in disbelief. 'How did we miss that?'

'Miss what?'

'Wilson and Dr. Cuddy. It's just so… obvious.'

Cameron mimics his posture. 'It's obvious now that we know about it.'

Chase scoffs and gives her a meaningless glare, the corners of his eyes tinted with a smile.

'I think she handled it pretty well,' he says after a moment, reluctant to let the conversation die.

'I think she handled it the only way she knew how,' Cameron replies, observantly and without malice of any kind.

'Probably so,' he nods, but isn't entirely sure he knows what she means. And Cameron knows he doesn't, and can't help the small smile that creeps onto her face.

'Dr. Cuddy'll probably have him on a leash from now on, though.'

'House or Wilson?'

'Both,' she shrugs. 'Although I heard she's let House out of clinic duty for the week.'

'Lucky bastard.'

'No, not really.'

He sighs and nods, and pretends not to be disappointed. He can feel her eyes on him but doesn't turn until he's sure they've been removed.

'Come on,' he says, pushing off the wall. 'While House may be exempt, I highly doubt Dr. Cuddy will take too kindly to us skipping out on our duties.'

'Probably not,' she agrees, and follows him across the roof to the door.

There's a pause, a smirk on his face when he starts casually, 'So, do you still think House and Wilson are—'

'Shut up, Chase.'

He laughs, holding the door open for her as he grins, 'Whatever you say, Allison.'

**/end**

_Notes: Little Lunar Wolf – _I just adore Stacy, and I agree that she's one of the few people who truly knows and understands and loves House. I'm so glad she came out likeable. Too much Stacy-hate in his fandom. _SilverMoonShining_ – update hath arrived. Hope you enjoy. _Paige fan _– I don't know; I think House has the capacity to apologize (we've seen him apologize to Cuddy), but I think the words are as far as he would take it. He's not going to ever _show_ her that he's sorry. But it's a matter of opinion, I suppose, and it just makes my live to know people think the story is (relatively) in character. Re: title – check out the song. It's just eerily fabulous. :) _Andy Osnard _ - glad you're liking! And huzzah for angst!

Thank you to the infinity to everyone who left a comment – critical, friendly or anything in between. Just to know people are reading it is enough!


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